“No,” I smiled, “Hunter is totally in need of a date, and I thought you two might hit it off. Hunter, this is Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse. She’s a great girl—” yes, I almost gagged when I said it, “—and I think you two ought to get to know each other.”
“Did she put you up to this?” Tiffany glared at me suspiciously.
Hunter was thrown off his game. He was obviously checking Tiffany out. I couldn’t blame him. Tiffany was very good looking. On the outside. Her insides looked like a sewer, based on my experiences with her. And I wasn’t talking about her colon. I meant her personality. Tiffany was one of those girls who wanted the world to believe that when she went number two, rose petals sifted out. Well, what really came out and fell into the toilet bowl was her personality. You know what I mean.
“No,” Hunter said to Tiffany, “I, we just met. Samantha and I.”
“Who?” Tiffany said.
“I thought you guys knew each other?” Hunter asked, confused.
“Her?” Tiffany sneered. “I think she scrubs toilets around campus. Yeah, that’s where I’ve seen her.”
I was right. Tiffany and toilet bowls went hand-in-hand. Maybe I needed to start thinking of her as Tiffany Kingcolon-Shithouse.
“Enjoy!” I waved to Tiffany and Hunter before hurrying off, pulling Romeo behind me.
“Wait, Sam!” Romeo said. “He’s totally staring at us!”
“I don’t care, let’s just go.”
“But what if he’s staring at
“I doubt it.”
“You think he wants
“No, I think he just wants to add another notch to his belt.”
“I’ll be his notch!” Romeo pleaded.
“Shut up, Romeo!”
With any luck, Tiffany and Hunter would tear each other to shreds like ravenous predators. Because that’s what they both were.
I shuddered as I wondered what kind of babies they might make. Velociraptors and Sabertooth Tigers, look out! The Kingston-Whitehouse-Blakeley Boys are in the house!
Somehow, I thought if Tiffany and Hunter
Romeo had section to go to for one of his theater classes, so we parted ways for the afternoon.
As I walked to my car, I half-expected Hunter to pop up out of nowhere and pressure me to go out with him again. Thankfully, he wasn’t around.
Unless he was watching me from the bushes with some of those infrared goggles that serial killers liked to use when stalking innocent college coeds.
Okay, wrong train of thought.
I walked across the gigantic parking lot.
Alone.
SAMANTHA
On the way to my car, my phone rang. It was Christos. “Hey, you!”
“
“You have?” I beamed.
“Of course. You are my everything. What else would I be thinking about?”
I sighed, “I love you, Christos.”
“I love you too. Hey, guess what?”
“You’re even more beautiful this evening than the last time I laid my eyes on your perfection?” He sounded like he was smiling, “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I found a job today!” I said.
“Sweet! I knew you would, Samantha. Doing what?”
“Working at the campus art museum at the cash register.”
“Congratulations! You’re diving right into the art world,
“You were right,” I smiled.
“I think we should celebrate.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“You coming over to my grandfather’s house. I’ll make you dinner. All you’ll have to do is sit back and relax while you keep me company.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Perfect. Get your fine ass over here.”
I dropped my cell phone in my purse and walked down the aisle in the parking lot toward where my VW was parked.
I sensed a car approaching me slowly from behind. I angled toward the side, giving the car plenty of room to pass. The driver honked the horn twice. What the hell? There was plenty of room for them to drive around me. Whatever. I kept walking.
The car pulled along beside.
“Hey, beautiful,” the driver said.
I’d spoken too soon.
Hunter Blakeley grinned from his convertible Porsche Boxster. He wore aviator sunglasses that looked like they were used in conjunction with his car to stalk innocent college coeds and coerce them into his clutches.
He wasn’t fooling me. I smirked at him.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. I was so not playing into his flirtatious game.
His arm rested casually on the steering wheel as his car rolled along beside me at two miles an hour. “I’m hurt, Sam. I thought we were friends.”
“I barely know you, Hunter.”
“That’s how friendships start. But we have to get past the barely stage before we get to the Blakeley stage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you just made that up, because if you’ve used that line on women in the past, there’s zero chance we can be friends.”
He chuckled. “Then I’m in luck. I did in fact just make it up.”
I said nothing and kept walking. Where had I parked my car? Was it like ten miles from here? I sensed Hunter might even follow me all the way home, trying to wear me down the entire way.
Two could play at this game. I turned between two cars and crossed over to another aisle. I smiled at myself. The aisles were so long, it would take him forever to drive around.
Unless he floored it, whipped around the far end of the aisle, and drove down mine.
I sighed and kept walking as his car drove toward me.
When his car reached me, he stopped and smiled. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all day.” He said it like it was no big deal. He was totally at ease. This was his sport, and Hunter Blakeley was a total player. I’m sure he’d Gold Medaled in it in London in 2012.
I kept walking.
He put the car in reverse and caught up with me, his car keeping pace with me going backward. “There you are,” he smiled, “almost lost you.”
“You’re going to hit something,” I said dryly.
“Nah, I’ve got my eye on the road.” He stared right at me.
“Not from where I’m standing.” I’d had enough of this. I crossed back over to the aisle I’d just left. I expected him to speed back down the way he’d came.
No, he simply put his car in park and left it idling where it stopped in the parking lot. He hopped over the door and trotted after me. He caught up quickly.
